


i've really been on a bender and it shows

by akamine_chan



Series: The Sharpest Lives [21]
Category: Bandom, Danger Days: The True Lives of the Fabulous Killjoys (Album), My Chemical Romance
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-08-11
Updated: 2011-08-11
Packaged: 2017-10-22 12:21:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,409
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/237949
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/akamine_chan/pseuds/akamine_chan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Poison goes on a screaming bender to forget the look in Gerard's eyes.</p>
            </blockquote>





	i've really been on a bender and it shows

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Andeincascade (Ande)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ande/gifts).



> Warning: scenes of substance abuse. Also, a scene that could be interpreted as dub con if you are sensitive to it.
> 
> Written with much love for my beloved Andeincascade, for her belated birthday.
> 
> Amazingly fast and useful beta work done by my other partner-in-bandom Lucifuge5, who was kind enough to look this over repeatedly. Also, thanks to Green who also looked it over.

Poison goes on a screaming bender trying to forget the look in Gerard's eyes.

He swallows pills, snorts fairydust, and drinks some of the roughest alk that he's ever had the misfortune to encounter. There's a brief moment when he's terrified it's metho alk, the stuff that makes you go blind, but then he realizes his fucking eyes are squinched shut from the taste.

A crazy Zonerunner mugs him and takes one of his boots. The left one. When the mugger zooms away, Poison yanks the other boot off and flings it after him, yelling curses. Those were his favorite boots.

MGMK plays at a bar and Poison's lucky enough to catch the show. The crowd's rougher than usual and he picks up a bloody nose and a lot of bruises from the mosh pit while MK glares daggers at him. He's forgotten that MK and Gerard are tight. A few more drinks and some yellow striped pills and he forgets about Gerard again.

Jet finds him at a down-Zone bar, popping caff and slamming shots. He sees Poison's bloodshot eyes and shaking hands and pushes Poison out of the bar. Poison can tell that Jet's worried, but he can't find the words to tell him that everything's shiny. Instead, Poison lets Jet take him home and meekly allows himself be tucked into his bed like a baby killjoy.

Poison goes out again a few nights later, up-Zone this time, to some wavehead bars. He ends up trading his second best zapgun for some stuff for his guys—new shirts, candy, batteries, parts for Kobra's bike. Poison drives a hard bargain, so he's pleased with himself. So pleased that he gets trashed and _thrashed_ , snorts some XLT and wanders from bar to bar, checking out the bands and the motorbabies, searching the crowds for a familiar dark mop of hair and pale skin. When he realizes what he's doing he calls it a fucking night.

He's stoned when he runs over some cactus (and maybe a rock or two) with the Am. The Am dies and rumbles to a stop _again_. He ends up abandoning the junker and wandering lost for a while in the desert, fevered and hallucinating.

He gets rescued by some freaky waveheads who hook him up with some new shit that has him flying and floaty. They drop Poison off at the diner where Kobra stares suspiciously at the waveheads, grabbing Poison's arm and dragging him inside. He yells at Poison for what feels like _hours_ about how hard it's going to be to replace the fucking parts Poison's ruined and all he can do is alternate between giggles and tears, which makes Kobra stomp off in a huff.

Ghoul and Jet wrestle his clothes off and for an instant his eyebrows touch his hairline, because really? Ghoul? _And_ Jet? He starts to grin smugly and then they dump him into the make-shift tub in the back, hosing him down because he reeks like he rolled in garbage. Which, maybe he did. A little. On a bet. He struggles feebly but Jet holds him down while Ghoul scrubs at him with soap and a rough brush until he begs them to stop. They ignore him.

When he goes down-Zone again, Poison smells fucking flowery from the soap and he curses Ghoul under his breath when a Zonerunner sniffs at him suspiciously.

He dances drunkenly for hours at a Fuck You house, spends portions of a night in anonymous alleys throwing up the alk he drinks, flirts with as many killjoys and motorbabies and gasoline girlz as he can. Somehow, Poison ends up back in an alley with a wavehead on his knees sucking his dick and it pisses him off something fierce when it's Gerard's name that he shouts as he comes.

Fucker.

The blue pills make him horny as hell and the green ones make him talk backwards and it feels likes he's being twisted inside out; he really doesn't like the green ones. He gets into a bar fight and ends up on his knees, getting violently sick from eating questionable food sold from a cart. Poison knows better than that, to eat suspicious food from a street vendor; it's the first lesson you learn out in the Dust, but he seems hellbent on doing all the wrong things since Gerard left him come-spattered and debauched on the hood of the Am.

It's Ghoul this time who comes to take him home, and it's bad. Poison can tell, because everything Ghoul feels is reflected on his face and what's there is fear. “Go home, Ghoul,” Poison mutters before staggering off for something to make him forget everything.

Poison gets mugged _again_ , almost gets shot, and rescues some kids who've managed to escape Bat City and are totally out of their element in the Dust. They're young and innocent and naïve and Poison wants to kick something, because they'll lose their shine fast enough, out here. If they manage to survive at all.

It is not a good time by any stretch of the word, a carousel whirl of neon lights, pounding music and a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach that won't go away no matter how many pills he eats.

When he closes his eyes, all he can see is Gerard, walking away from him.

He should leave things as they are, Poison fucking _knows_ that, but he's always had poor impulse control and fuck it all, he just can't.

Once Poison finally sobers up, he spends some time and c's to replace the parts on the Am so they can get it up and running again. He comes back from a swapmeet with more mechanical bits and pieces than his guys know what to do with, plenty of parts for all their projects. He can't say the words, can't even _find_ the words, but Jet and Kobra and Ghoul accept his apology anyway.

And he keeps his ears open, listens for Gerard and his boys on any freq. The silence is a white noise that fills his head with fear.

It's like they scattered and went to ground like jackrabbits; there's not a ping from them. They're not playing any shows, no one's seen them at the Fuck You houses or any of the skanky bars they usually hang at; it's like they've blown away with the wind.

As a last resort, Poison checks out their daytime hideout, an abandoned drive-in movie theater. The place is undisturbed, unraided. It looks like the boys just took off for a show and never came back.

It's a relief, because it means he isn't going into the City to rescue them from the hands of Draculoids and BL/ind. Which, stupid idiot that he is, he'd do. Because he likes their music and they're all milkshake dudes.

He almost believes that.

Word spreads that he's looking for Gerard's band and it's a matter of hours before someone finds the boys; they're laying low because Gerard got himself snatched up in a fucking S/C/A/R/E/C/R/O/W raid; he's stuck in the local processing center waiting to be transported to a hub detention center before being shuttled back to the City.

Killjoys of every stripe and shade come out of the woodwork to answer the call to arms; the boys are back at the drive-in before they know what's happening, smuggled from one killjoy to another, like a shipment of exotic goods. From Gasoline Cola, who'd been a teacher before the Bombs had fallen and still taught a lot of baby killjoys how to read, to the beautiful sisters Electric and Cyanide Diamond in the desert with their healing herbs and soothing touches, to old Atomic Lithium and her mad skills with circuits, to Wicked Fire and his huge collection of vinyl records, and so on.

Anytime you asked killjoys for help you get a party, a celebration, a giant 'fuck you' aimed directly at BL/ind. Poison loves them so very much, his crew of oddball survivors.

Gerard's boys are safe and so Poison goes down-Zone to get Gerard himself out of hock. He doesn't tell his killjoys where he's going, just heads off in the middle of the night to get it done. It's easier to sneak out than to try to explain the craziness inside his head.

It's not easy, it's never easy, but it's shiny, because Poison likes a challenge.

This far outside of the City, the S/C/A/R/E/C/R/O/W processing centers are smaller ones. This one is a new building, brightly lit, painted sterile white and rests uneasy next to some abandoned shops in one of the many bordertowns in Zone 5. It's divided into two sections—the front intake area where the prisoners are ID'd, recorded, stamped, folded, spindled and mutilated, and the rest of the building, where the prisoners are kept.

It's identical to every other processing center in the Zones, just scaled down, and Poison's been in enough of them to not have think about much of anything as he kicks in the door, raygun drawn. _Zap_ , _zap_ and his finger freezes on the trigger because the third Drac is on his knees begging for his life.

"Where's the keycard?" he asks, his plastic mask buzzing across his eyes with the growl in his voice.

The Drac fumbles the keycard out of his pocket and holds it out to Poison, hand shaking badly. Poison takes it, then gestures toward the entrance, keeping his gun trained on the Drac until the Drac is out the door.

He's always been too fucking soft, he knows it, but he's mostly okay with that.

Poison rifles through the pockets of the dead Dracs, scavenging their bodies for anything useful: c's, guns, food, drugs, IDs. He leaves their masks on; it took a long time for that lesson to sink in, but it finally did. Dracs are Dracs, and there's no one behind the masks.

A solitary computer sits on a desk, the cursor blinking accusingly. They're too far out in the Zones for it to be connected to BL/ind's network, which is a disappointment. Poison loves to hack into the network when he has the chance, fucking with the precise scheduling programs that control so much of life in Battery City.

With a shrug, Poison sets up Ghoul's newest toy, a mini-EMP generator. The timer's set to go off in about ten minutes, plenty of time.

He keeps one ear open as he walks to the 'Prisoner Detention Area,' as it's so helpfully labeled and keycards it open. He's expecting a little bit of a crowd, because the Dracs love their raids and they've got quotas to meet.

The door slides open and there's Gerard. Sitting alone on a cold metal bench, mouth duct taped shut, hands ziptied behind his back, looking rumpled and worse for wear. He's got a black eye and a bloody cut on his cheek; it's obvious that he went down swinging.

"And here I thought there was a party going on in here," Poison says. He loves to make an entrance, even if his audience is only Gerard.

"Mmmmph-mfh-mrph!"

"You know, it's really too bad I can't understand a word you're saying." He grins at Gerard, watching his face flush angrily. "Hey, motorbaby, I thought you'd be glad to see me.”

Poison grabs Gerard by the front of his mangled shirt and stands him up for a moment before bending over and hoisting him over one shoulder. Gerard makes a sound of protest from behind his strip of tape and tries to knee Poison in the head, but Poison's got it covered. He slings his arm around Gerard's legs and that keeps Gerard from kicking wildly.

"You got anything here you can't leave behind?" he asks. "One kick for no, two for yes."

Gerard growls and kicks out once.

"Excellent, shiny baby. We're outta here," Poison says, slapping Gerard's ass hard, just because he can. Gerard squirms angrily and Poison almost drops him, laughing.

Poison hustles them out of the processing center. The third Drac is bound to come back with reinforcements and there's Ghoul's little EMP generator going bang soon, as well.

It's too much trouble to maneuver Gerard into the backseat of the Am, so he shoves him into the trunk and starts the car up. Over the rough growl of the engine, he can feel an occasional _thunk_ as Gerard tries to kick the trunk open.

He keeps an eye on the rear view mirror as he hauls ass out of the bordertown, heading for a safe house. It's still in the Zone, but the Dracs won't find them; he's sure of that.

It doesn't take them long to get there, the way Poison drives. He hoists a still-struggling Gerard up again, making sure to dig in a little into Gerard's stomach with his shoulder, revenge for everything Gerard has put him through lately.

The safe house is actually a motel; there's no power, so Poison turns on his glowstik, which throws off a bright yellow glow. He navigates through the corridors until he find a room set up with all the modern amenities: cans of Power Pup, BL/ind propaganda pamphlets, back issues of _Shiny_ and _Murder_ piled haphazardly on the table.

He snorts and tosses Gerard onto the bed, which creaks alarmingly. The blankets are old and faded, a little dusty, but still nicer than anything Poison's slept on in a while. Luxurious by killjoy standards, at least.

Gerard twists onto his side and glares at him from behind his bangs. The patch of grey tape looks obscenely wrong against the pale softness of his skin.

"You still mad at me, pretty baby?" Poison asks softly, leaning close. Gerard lunges and just barely misses headbutting Poison right in the face. Poison jerks back and laughs mockingly. "Guess so."

Poison sits at the table and opens a can of Power Pup up; he's starving. He starts to dig in with his fingers and realizes there's a _"Spoon!"_ He holds the utensil up to the light to show Gerard and smiles. "Hungry, baby?" he asks, intent on reading the BL/ind brochures to see if there's anything new. Same old, same old, _Better Living for better living_ , _Building A Better You_ , blah blah blah.

BL/ind could really use a new shtick.

"Mrffph!"

"Hmmmm?" Poison looks over at Gerard, who's struggling uselessly on the bed. "What's up, doll?"

Gerard twists his shoulders in a way that indicates to Poison that he would really like to not be fucking ziptied anymore.

Poison looks at him and sees the unwashed hair, the shadows under Gerard's eyes, the fatigue written into the lines of his body. He moves over to the bed and lies down next to Gerard, feeling the fine tremors moving through him, adrenaline-exhausted and crashing.

He cradles Gerard's face in his hands and presses his lips to Gerard's forehead for a long moment, feeling the tangled knot in his chest relax the tiniest bit. Poison inhales slowly, deeply. "I'm sorry."

It's the best he can do. Poison wishes he could say more, to explain but the words won't come. Words aren't his thing, aren't the way he expresses himself. He does his best communicating with his body, with his actions. He's always been that way.

He puts his hand on Gerard's belly, rubbing slowly. "Let me show you how sorry I am, baby. Please? I'll fuck you so slow and sweet—"

Gerard's stomach jerks under his hand and Poison can feel him tense, poised for a long moment on the edge of _no_. Poison holds his breath, hoping that he hasn't fucked things up so badly that Gerard really _does_ want Poison out of his life.

Gerard's eyes flutter shut and he nods slowly, the tightness in his muscles loosening.

Poison slips his hand down and unbuttons Gerard's pants, pulling out his dick, already half-hard. He scoots down the bed, murmuring softly. "Such a pretty cock, baby. Love to suck you." He opens his mouth and takes Gerard in, swallowing him down, hearing him moan behind the duct tape. Poison holds Gerard's cock steady, using his mouth and lips to make him hard and wet and Gerard's breathing is getting noisy.

He loves doing this, savors the taste of Gerard on his tongue, feels the tiny aborted movements that Gerard makes with his hips. Poison smiles to himself. He and Gerard understand each other just fine if they're not using words.

Gerard inhales sharply and tenses; Poison's familiar enough with the signs to pull away and squeeze Gerard's dick, pushing his orgasm back. Poison drops a light kiss on the head of his cock, making Gerard twitch a little.

Poison climbs carefully over Gerard and starts sucking on Gerard's fingers. His hands are still ziptied and Poison holds onto his hip so he can't move away. Gerard squirms; it's got to be torture because Gerard has a _thing_ about having his fingers sucked on. Poison just pretends that he's still got his mouth on Gerard's cock and it's not long before Gerard's making muffled, broken sounds and panting through his nose.

He puts his own fingers into his mouth to get them slippery, not making a show of it, because Gerard can't see what Poison's doing and that's half the fun. He shoves Gerard's pants down the curve of his ass and pushes in slowly with two fingers, echoing Gerard's shudder. Gerard's so fucking tight and hot and it makes Poison a little crazy.

"So fucking good, I promise, Gerard, make you fall apart, make you come for me," he whispers against Gerard's pale skin. Poison takes his time opening Gerard up with his fingers, finding that spot that makes him jerk and cry out behind the tape.

It's the sounds that finally break Poison, the little desperate moans that vibrate from Gerard's throat. He can't stand it anymore, he pulls his fingers out and spits into the palm of his hand. He slicks his cock up and doesn't wait, just pushes into Gerard with one steady, slow thrust.

Gerard keens from behind the tape and the sound is electrifying; every hair on Poison's body stands up in reaction. "Fuck," he breathes. "So perfect, pretty baby." It's a tight fit with Gerard's pants keeping him from spreading his legs; the position is awkward as hell but it doesn't stop Gerard from pushing back against him.

Poison wraps an arm around Gerard's chest and leans forward so that they're spooned together, his lips brushing the tip of Gerard's ear as he whispers a litany of dirty things he wants to do with Gerard. He keeps his hand firm on Gerard's hip as he rocks in and out, biting his lip hard as he fights for control.

Gerard leans his head back against Poison's shoulder and there's just enough light for Poison to see Gerard's face. Poison's body stutters in shock. He's so fucking glad that Gerard is gagged, because if he wasn't, he'd be saying things they'd both regret. Gerard rolls his hips and Poison forces himself to start moving again, dipping his head down to press his lips against Gerard's neck.

It's so much safer this way.

The sound of what they're doing echoes in the room, the rhythmic creak of leather and vinyl, Gerard's loud, desperate breathing and muffled moans, Poison's panting. It's a weird, raunchy symphony that's making Poison dizzy with the need to fucking come.

"C'mon, sunshine, come for me," Poison croons, reaching around to stroke Gerard's cock in time with his thrusts. "Show me how good I'm making you feel, how much you love this."

Gerard arches his back, hands fisting against Poison's stomach as he comes, spilling into Poison's hand. Gerard's entire body tenses as he shudders through his orgasm and Poison bites at his shoulder, trying to keep from being pulled under as well. He's not ready to come, just wants to stay forever in the heat of Gerard's body.

But it's been too long, Poison's been on edge for days and he can't hold back anymore. He throws his head back with a growl, hips lurching forward, shivering as he comes. "Gerard, I—" He buries the rest of the words against the nape of Gerard's neck and wishes things were different.

-fin-


End file.
